


Leaving on a Jetplane

by warmmilkandtea



Series: Together [1]
Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Airplanes, Airports, Airtravel, Bayern München, Borussia Dortmund, Chatting & Messaging, Established Relationship, Football | Soccer, Hospital, Limousine, Long-Distance Relationship, Love, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Plans, Police, Sadness, Secret Relationship, Too many transportation-related tags, Trains, Very Slight AU, very little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmmilkandtea/pseuds/warmmilkandtea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to Portland International Airport. Please do not leave your luggage unattended at any time.</p><p>Mario is on the way back from his holiday, and he couldn't stand not seeing Marco 'till their match in November. So he decides to change that.</p><p>{Entire work has been re-checked and updated as of 2015-09-20 :)}</p><p>Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. This is not an attack against any of the real-world counterparts of any of the characters involved, any of the companies or brands mentioned or anything, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to PDX

*ding dong*   
Welcome to Portland International Airport. Please do not leave your luggage unattended at any time.  
*ding dong*

Mario was sitting in the first class lounge, enjoying the view onto the Columbia River flowing along the border between Oregon and Washington State. He was reading the latest issue of the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung1 (mostly for the sports bit) and drinking some water. He decided to ditch the coffee today, as he would have to sit through multiple flights during the next sixteen hours in order to get back to Germany and his only chance of avoiding a major jet lag would be to sleep all the way. 

His phone vibrated on the coffee table standing aside the armchair in which Mario had made himself comfortable. This caused the phone itself, as well as the decorum placed next, to it rattle audibly. He put the newspaper down into his lap before picking up his phone, tapping the home button while doing so in order to activate the screen. There was a new notification telling him that a certain someone had sent him a message. Mario entered his PIN and opened the messages app. The message in question read “Have a nice flight, Kleiner2 ;)”. 

“Thank you! :D How is your foot?” Mario answered, remembering the game which had rendered the other half of the conversation inert for the entirety of the world cup. He considered putting down the phone to continue reading when the next message arrived. “Getting better every day. The doctor said I'll finally be able to leave the hospital forty-eight hours from now :)”. Mario checked the watch of his phone, wondering that a doctor would be on duty this early in the morning, then mentally facepalmed himself when he remembered that he was nine hours behind Germany. He typed back “That sounds amazing :D You'll finally get some fresh air. When will you start playing again?”. Mario folded up the newspaper and placed it on the coffee table. “My first game is planned for the first week of September. Don't worry, I'll be fit enough to kick your ass in October ;P The worst thing here isn't being in a hospital though, but not being with you, Kleiner. I miss you.”

Mario read the message once more and allowed his head to rest in his hands as he felt his heart become heavy. He needed a minute. He knew he wanted to be at his bedside, joking around about kicking each others asses and cuddling in order to make both of them feel just a little bit better. He hadn't seen him since their last match together, way back in June, before the World Cup. Not seeing him until the match in October would veritably make him go insane. By then, he will not have seen him for just over four months – more than a quarter year. No way he could focus training like this – save on the games themselves. He remembered all the times he sat at the beach at Campo Bahia, looking out onto the ocean and wishing that he could catch a glimpse of him beyond the waves, that he could share this time with him. He thought about all the fun he had had with the rest of the team in Brazil – and began to weep. He felt like a traitor, betraying the one he loved most by abandoning him to what must have felt like exile in the rooms of a hospital somewhere back in Germany while he had had fun winning the World Cup. He cried until the sorrow was washed away by the tears, having been replaced by a feeling of deep catharsis. Never the less he suffered, constantly, under the feeling that, somewhere, something was missing, and he knew exactly what, or, better said, who that something was. 

“Are you all right, Mr. Götze?” a young lady's voice asked, startling him while doing so.   
“Yes, I'm fine.” Mario answered, looking up to see a blonde woman wearing a blue-and-yellow Lufthansa uniform. She was kneeling down in front of him, allowing her to be at eye level with him.  
“Your plane is ready for boarding, sir.” She said, studying Mario's face. “Shall I get you some wet wipes?” she proceeded to ask, having noticed that Mario's eyes were still damp.  
“That would be nice, thank you.” He replied with a faint smile running across his lips. The hostess got up to fetch the wet wipes, and Mario used the time to reply to the message.

“I miss you too, Großer3. I have to go, but I'll tell you when I'm back in Munich.” 

When he was sure that the message had gone through, he emptied the glass of water still standing next to him. He pondered taking the newspaper with him, and decided to do so because he wanted to finish reading the article about himself. He never thought of all the speculations and crazy theories sports journalists made up when it comes to the private lives of footballers as more than a joke, even if they came dangerously close to the truth from time to time. He still read the articles just to make sure that there was nothing too crazy floating around about him. He doubted that he'd find something too unsettling though, the FAZ isn't the Bild4, after all. 

He packed away the newspaper into the Nike sports bag he was using as a carry-on (complementary Nike bags being one of the many benefits of being a pro soccer player) and got up, awaiting the hostess' return. Mario heard her prior to seeing her as she walked towards him, the tapping sound of her high heels against the thin, flimsy carpet covering the floor of the lounge making her noticeable to even the blindest of people. Mario turned around, putting his phone into the pocket of his jeans. She was holding a little packet of wet wipes, which she handed over to Mario with a polite “Here you go.”

Mario tore open the aluminium foil surrounding the damp squares of textile and wiped his eyes, the coolness against his eyelids making them feel a little less sore than the salty moisture and the drowsiness had made them feel. He opened his eyes again and inspected the wrapper. On it was an Amtrak5 ad. Images started zooming through Mario's head, quickly congealing to an idea which drove a mischievous smile up his lips. He knew at that point that there might just be a way to not go insane. 

“Do you feel better now?” the lady, who's name, according to her name tag, was Ms Beese, asked.  
“Yes, I do, thank you.” Mario responded.  
“Should I take care of that for you?” She asked, gesturing towards the wrapper and the used wipe in Mario's hand.   
“Yes, please. Oh, and, could you please do me another favor?” he asked.   
“Sure, what is it?” the lady replied, relieving Mario of the trash in his hand. Mario started searching his bag for something. He quickly procured a pen and a piece of paper from it and scribbled a note onto it.   
“Could you please relay this to your colleagues in Munich?” he said, handing the sheet of paper to Ms Beese.   
“Of course, I will make sure they get it as soon as possible after I show you to your gate.” Mario nodded in response and picked up his carry-on while the hostess folded up the piece of paper, put it into her pocket, spun on her heels and walked towards the front door. Mario followed suit and they both walked through the airport until they reached the gate corresponding to Mario's flight (the personal escort being another perk of being a pro soccer player who can afford to fly first class).

Ms Beese turned around again and handed Mario his tickets. He thanked her and walked towards the counter, where a flight attendant led him down the finger and to his seat once he showed them his ticket. He drank his glass of champagne and laid down on the bed arranged next to his chair. He closed the blinds and plugged in the (also complimentary) foam earplugs. He sank into the silence around him and everything went dark.

He was there again. It was right after they had won the final. Shortly after he had scored the golden goal that made them champions. Atop the Corcovador, stood the Christo Redentor, colored in black, red and gold. The Estádio do Maracanã6 was ablaze with euphoria. They had just won the World Cup, as the first German team in fourteen years. He could hear the fans cheering around him, he could hear himself and the others yelling at the top of their lungs, he felt his pulse beat like a drum, his body ready to burst with joy, and then he remembered him. He sprinted to the substitute's bench and fetched what would have looked like a spare jersey to anyone else. He found the nearest camera, unraveled the jersey, and held it up in front of him.

The jersey had a four letter name printed on its back in bold black letters above the number 21. The name those four letters spelled echoed in Mario's mind.

REUS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the first chapter - there is more to come, and I can't wait to hear back from all of you :D
> 
> 1: A major daily newspaper in Germany.  
> 2: German equivalent of 'little guy'.  
> 3: German equivalent of 'big guy'.  
> 4: The yellowest yellow press German journalism can muster.  
> 5: An [american railway company](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amtrak).  
> 6: The [stadium the world cup final was hosted in during the 2014 World Cup in Brazil](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maracan%C3%A3_Stadium).


	2. From plane to train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario arrives at Frankfurt International! He stays there a while before the first part of his plan begins to unravel.

*time flies as Mario sleeps through most of the flight, waking up only to go to the lavatory once or twice*

Mario feels his shoulder being nudged and rolls around, looking up to find out who awakened him. He sees a stewardess pointing at her ears, making a gesture akin to removing in-ear headphones. She seems to be speaking, but Mario can't hear what she is trying to say. He makes a confused face, which only leads to the stewardess gesturing more vigorously. Mario continues to look at her, still confused, but when he notices that he can hardly her anything else either, realization dawns upon him. He places his fingers on either ear, feeling the foamy end of the earplugs still blocking his auditory canals. He removes them, reestablishing his capability to hear.

The air around him is filled with the low hum of the engines. The stewardess starts speaking again.  
“Could you please sit back down and put your seat back into an upright position? We are preparing to land.” she asked, and Mario obliged immediately. The stewardess continues, down the aisle, checking for any unfolded tray tables and level seats, correcting the situation where necessary.

The intercom speakers buzz to life with a crackle of static and the captain starts speaking. “Ladies and Gentleman, we are currently approaching Frankfurt International Airport. The weather in Frankfurt consists of mostly rain at approximately 22°C or 72°F. We are approaching the airport from the north today. As soon as the tower gives us permission, we will start landing, but because of delays caused by low visibility we might have to hold for a bit longer than usual.” 

Mario opened the shades and saw what the pilot meant. Rain was pounding against the hull of the A330, leaving behind trails of water on the acrylic screen. The trails branched off into smaller rivulets which seemed to pulse as more water flowed along them. The wind started to pick up and a particularly strong gust shook the plane. A ding echoed through the cabin as the seat belt signs came on. The sound of buckles being fastened could be heard as the passengers, Mario included, followed their captain's non-verbal instructions to do so. 

The captain eventually started the landing, and they touched down, rain still pouring. The captain spoke over the intercom once more, welcoming them to Frankfurt and thanking them for flying with Lufthansa today. As they were taxiing to their parking position Mario switched his phone back on. He had turned it off during the flight, despite new regulations allowing him to keep it on, because a.) there was hardly any reception at 12000m above the Atlantic Ocean, and b.) he was sleeping the entire time anyway, so it was smarter to save his phone's battery life in case he needed it later.

His phone showed him a number of notifications. There were hundreds of social media notification (just a byproduct of being famous), a couple new mails and new message from Marco. The author doubts that it is really necessary to, at this point, mention which of these notifications Mario tended to first. The message read: “Are you back in Germany already, Kleiner?”. A smile crawled up Mario's lips, and he made a point to call Marco as soon as he got off this damn plane. The plane reached its final parking position and the captain used the intercom one last time, notifying the cabin attendance that all doors are now in park.  
Mario, as well as the other six or seven first class passengers got up and gathered their carry-on luggage, preparing to leave the aircraft. They walked along the aisle and were wished goodbye by the purser and the cabin crew. One of the stewardesses flashed a black, red and gold flag and whispered “Good job in Brasil.” as Mario walked by. He looked back briefly, and saw the stewardess look away, her cheeks flushed. He couldn't quite make out the name written on the name tag she wore, but he retained a mental image of her general appearance. He could see the plane through the glass facade of the finger, and giggled when he saw that he just, quite ironically, flew in one of the “Fanhansa”1 planes. When he entered the terminal, he faced security control. Priority line security control, but still security control. He sighed and walked up to the counter. After having himself and his carry-on thoroughly searched for anything that has the potential to cause harm, he found himself in the First Class Terminal2, with a young male steward walking towards him.

“Welcome to Frankfurt, Mr Götze! We have received your message from Portland, and have henceforth canceled your connecting flight to Munich. A driver will pick you up in forty-five minutes. He will hand you your tickets and your luggage. Until then, enjoy your stay and don't be shy to make use of our amenities as much as you'd like to.”  
“Thank you! I will, for sure. By the way, is there a news agent's somewhere close?” Mario responds.  
The steward pointed towards a corridor behind him. “There is on right outside the terminal. Please, tell me what you need and I will make sure that you'll receive it shortly.”  
“Okay. This might sound more narcissistic than it is, but I need a sports magazine with a picture of me on the cover. Oh, and a permanent marker.”  
The steward smiles and nods. “All right. I hope you'll enjoy your stay here.”

The terminal had three main areas. The largest was the lounge, where one could dine, enjoy drinks and relax while planespotting through large glass windows lined with armchairs. The second one was split into multiple private working units, which had private bathrooms for each guest attached, so one could unwind and freshen up a bit before flying again. The last was the pickup area where drivers waited for their passengers.

The steward walked away, and Mario decided that he should really call Marco. On the other hand, there was a.) a bathtub waiting for him in his bathroom and b.) he would have a lot more privacy there – and, quite honestly, not every single member of Lufthansa staff had to know about him and Marco. On the other hand, he was never really certain if it was still really necessary to keep their relationship secret. They had always tried to remain as decent as possible, especially Mario, who had still let the public think he had a girlfriend, even though they broke up more than a year ago. But despite all these efforts, he had the feeling that sometimes, when someone brought up the topic of his love life around him, no matter how eloquently he ensured that there was nothing else going on, the people around him would start to act just a bit off, like there was some uncomfortable truth clearly evident to each and every one of them, but somehow so taboo that no one wanted to talk about it. Especially when he talked to the other players on the National Team, a fact that had been the cause of many awkward situations for him in Brazil. Mario knew that there was no way he could keep the relationship between him and Marco secret for ever, but for now he'd have to, as being openly gay in the modern world of pro soccer was still very much taboo, no matter what the FIFA, the DFB or some other organization says.

He carried these thoughts along with him as he walked into his bathroom, put down his carry-on, undressed and let warm water flow into the bathtub. Only when allowed himself to glide into the water did the thoughts actually dissipate, the warmth of the water making them melt and flow away back into his subconscious, making it possible for him to, finally, focus on the more enjoyable things in life – like calling his boyfriend, for example. 

Then he remembered where he had left his phone – in his pants' pocket. Great. Lucky for him, he hadn't dropped them far away from the bathtub. He turned, stretching himself towards the pile of clothes he had left behind while undressing. In the end, his fingertips were only a few centimeters away from his pants – a clear disadvantage of being short. Since Philipp's departure he was now officially the smallest member of the National Team, being dwarfed by everyone by at least five centimeters. He gave up on contorting himself, so he got up and stepped out of the bathtub with one foot, finally being able to grab his phone from his pocket, and trying not to spill half of the bathtub's contents over the floor of the bathroom. He sat back down in the bathtub and started dialing Marco's number when he was interrupted by an eMail from Pep3. When the subject line's contents flashed over the notifications bar at the top of the screen he froze. He had forgotten something that could foil his plan. What was the headline? ‘Reminder: Training resumes in two days.’

He deleted the numbers he had already typed and called Pep instead.  
Pep answered his phone with a deadpanned “Guardiola.”  
“Hi Pep, it's Mario. Could you do me a really big favor?” Mario asked, sounding as apologetic as humanly possible.  
“Depends on what it is.” Pep answered a bit rushed; he seemed to be in a hurry.  
“Would you mind me taking just one more day off?”  
The line was silent for a few seconds.  
“Fine with me, but you better have a good reason for this.” Pep replied, now clearly annoyed by something, and Mario had the bad feeling it was him.  
“Thank you so much! See you in three days.” Mario tried to sound as innocent and happy as possible.  
“I hope so. I'll be expecting you on the field at eight am sharp. Bye.” Pep hung up.

Now, finally, he called Marco. The time between ring-back tones seemed stretch with every one of then, and Mario used the time to take a closer look the items which were placed aside the bathtub. He smirked at the rubber duckling sitting on the tiles covering the space between the tub and the wall. Marco picked up the phone, startling Mario who had drowned out the ring-back tone.

“Hi, Kleiner. How are you?” Marco asked, his voice soft.  
“I'm talking with you, so I'm good. How is your foot?” Mario asked, that last bit sounding a bit more worried than it really should have.  
“It actually stopped hurting more than a week ago, but you know how doctors are. Believe me, one more MRI scan and I'll turn into a human magnet.” Marco joked.  
“It might actually be too late already, because somehow I can't help being attracted to you.” the younger retaliated.  
Marco chuckled. “I know, Kleiner, I feel the same way about you. I missed you so bad this summer, and I'm still so damn proud of you for that goal.” Mario said, his voice slightly trembling.  
Mario knew he had to cheer Marco up a bit. “You know what? How about we two go somewhere nice after the game4? I know a nice place. Plus they have Grünkohl5!” Mario was sure Marco wasn't going to say no to Grünkohl.  
“That sounds amazing. How about ‘loser pays the bill’ – at least that way I won't have to take my wallet with me.” Marco said, back on track with his humor.  
“You wish, we have over half of the team that won the World Cup, what do you have?” Mario said provocatively.  
“We have the entire team that beat you in August, plus me.” Marco said mockingly and seemingly unimpressed by Mario's show of power.  
“We'll see. But no matter who wins and loses, I really can't wait to see you again.” Mario said, proud of himself for him keeping his mouth shut about his plan without giving it away with his voice.  
“Wait a second.” Marco said.  
All Mario could hear was a door opening and two muffled voices talking to each other. He could clearly identify one of them as belonging to Marco, while the other one was completely unknown to him. The conversation was short and as soon as Mario heard the door close Marco started talking again.  
“Guess what, Kleiner, the doctor just moved up my release schedule to 10 o'clock tomorrow morning!” Marco said, clearly rejoicing.  
Mario hurriedly over-thought his plan once more, checking to make sure it would still work. It would mean a little less sleep for him, but, considering that he had just slept eleven hours straight, he should really be fine.  
“That's amazing! Already have plans for tomorrow?” Mario asked.  
“Why, you asking me out? Just kidding, I'll go home and take a really long shower to get the hospital smell off me and then go out for a run – I can almost feel my muscles devolving from all the sitting and lying around.”  
“That sounds more fun than the day I'll be having. I'll probably spend most of it sleeping off my jetlag.” Never mind that Mario had already done that, he was just making something up that would sound somewhat plausible to Marco.  
“I feel your pain, I hardly did anything else but lay around and sleep since I'm here. Judging by the amount of rest I got I should manage to stay awake for the next three days without any problems.” Marco said in an understanding tone of voice.  
“Yeah... But at least I can dream of you. I probably should go now, though. My plane leaves soon, and I still have to finish up some things.” – Getting dressed, for example – “Love you, Großer.” Mario said.  
“I love you too, Kleiner.” Marco responded and hung up. 

There was a knock on the door of the bathroom and the voice of the steward emanated through it. “Mr Götze? I have your magazine.”  
“Just a second!” Mario said, loud enough that the steward would most certainly hear him.  
He hobbled out of the bathtub, vigilantly trying to not slip and fall. He quickly rubbed himself dry with his towel and opened the drain of the bathtub. He put on his clothes and picked up his phone from the side of the bathtub and left the bathroom, picking up his carry-on on the way out and closing the door behind him.

The steward was waiting outside his room with a plastic bag. “Here are the items you asked for.” The steward said, giving Mario the bag. The latter reached inside and pulled out the magazine and the marker. He uncapped the marker and wrote ‘Have a nice flight!’ across the cover and signed it. He handed the magazine back to the steward and recapped the marker, slipping it into his carry-on. 

“Could you please give this to one of the first-class stewardesses aboard the plane with which I just arrived here? I don't know her name, but she has flat, brown hair, is a bit taller that me and I'd guess she's around 25 years old.” Mario said.  
“No problem, I'll make sure it'll be delivered to her. By the way, you might want to head down to the pickup area, as your driver should arrive soon.” The steward replied, taking the magazine from Mario.

The steward walked away, and Mario left for the pickup area, smiling at the thought of the stewardesses reaction to the magazine. His driver was already waiting for him, and so Mario walked up to and greeted him.

“Hi! You must be my driver, right?” Mario inquired.  
“Exactly, Mr Götze. I'll take care of your luggage.” The driver said, relieving Mario of his carry-on.  
“Thank you!” Mario said and sat down inside the limousine.  
The driver returned from the aft of the vehicle and sat down next to Mario, proceeding by procuring an envelope from the inner pocket of his suit and handing it to Mario. “This is your ticket.” He said, eliciting a smile and a “Thanks.” from Mario, who simply held onto the ticket for the time being, as he had no where to put it. His Bayern Munich shorts didn't really feature deep pockets, neither did his t-shirt, and his carry-on was in the trunk together with his suitcase.

The drive wasn't particularly long. It was approximately ten minutes until they arrived next to a door leading into the train station. It was small, plain, and clearly not meant for passengers, as it was placed on the far side of the train station. Anticipating Mario's question about the door the driver started to explain. “This is a maintenance door, but it leads straight to the platform you'll be leaving from, and that'll save you quite some walking.” Instead of asking the now null question Mario thanked the driver. Both men left the car, with the driver walking around to the back and opening the trunk. Mario took his carry-on and his suitcase out from the back, holding the ticket with his lips while doing so due to a temporary lack of free hands. 

After getting his luggage sorted he stores away his ticket in his carry-on and walks towards the door the driver had already opened for him. The driver bid farewell and thanked Mario for travelling with Lufthansa before closing the door behind him. Mario found himself in a stairwell with concrete walls and floors next to metal stairs leading downwards into the subterranean part of the station. Mario walked down them until he stood next to another door marked “Platforms”. 

He opened the door and snuck through quickly, trying to make no notice of himself.

An ear-piercing scream echoed through the halls of the station. It startled Mario and made him turn towards the origin of the scream in a sharp motion. It was a girl, running towards him, finger raised and pointing at him. Right behind her were two other girls, probably friends of her, also running towards him. He couldn't react quickly enough to flee, and so the girls reached him in a matter of seconds.

“Oh my God! Aren't you Mario Götze? Can we please have an autograph? Please?!” the girls asked, clearly ventilating at a somewhat higher rate than would be considered desirable. Now more people started approaching him, asking him for autographs. He was still too startled to properly react, so he could only really mumble. By now, a good hundred people from everywhere across the train station had clouded around him. They blocked the entire width of the platform, and Mario could move neither back nor forth, while these people tried to all get closer to him, pushing each other around and tightening the circle around him. Now even the three girls who had originally come up to Mario looked scared – he could bet this was not what they had in mind when they thought that they'd get a chance to meet him. Mario tried to reopen the door through which he had just entered the main hall of the station, but failed as it had fallen shut after he had passed through. Now, people started to panic as the circle pulled ever tighter like a noose around its victim. Luckily, by now, the police had noticed what was going on. The two police officers who had first noticed the tumult quickly called backup. Together they managed to drive the crowd apart, and when they reached Mario they made sure no one got to close again. Let's put it this way: Mario had not expected to meet an entire police squad dressed in riot gear today. They asked him which train he needed to go to. 

Mario answered immediately, even though he had barely caught his breath.

“The one over there.” He pointed at the train standing on the far side of the platform.

“The one to Dortmund.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOO! More than 3000 words in one chapter - new personal record, right here ;)  
> Thanks for all the kudos! I'd love some feedback! Are there too many descriptions/empty paragraphs (my fear)? If you have an opinion (and let's face it, everyone does) don't be shy to comment! I won't bite - I promise.
> 
> By the way, timewise, this is set between the DFL Supercup and the beginning of the Bundesliga. I know that the players don't get to go on vacation during that time, but this is a slight AU allowing Mario to do so. And that is totally _not 6_ because I screwed up while planning the timing/story arc...
> 
> By the way, for some amazing fanfiction (with quite some hilarious Thomas/Miro moments), check out [ThunderFrost2012!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderFrost2012/pseuds/ThunderFrost2012)
> 
>  **The footnotes:**  
>  1: The [Fanhansa](http://www.lufthansagroup.com/en/press/news-releases/singleview/archive/2014/may/13/article/2965.html) planes were a marketing gag by Lufthansa. They repainted the sides of some of their planes to feature a German flag and a soccer ball on them (see link for image).  
> 2: [This](http://chrisguillebeau.com/lufthansa-first-class-terminal-at-frankfurt-airport/) amazing thing I totally want to visit the next time I fly via Frankfurt. _*want*_  
>  3: Pep Guardiola, the manager/trainer of the FC Bayern Munich.  
> 4: The Bundesliga match of FC Bayern Munich vs. Borussia Dortmund scheduled for the 2014-11-01.  
> 5: Grünkohl = Kale. For more on the regional uses of Kale in north-western Germany, there is a paragraph [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kale#Regional_culinary_uses) which sums it up quite nicely.  
> 6: It totally is ;)
> 
> PS: I know Lufthansa is mentioned favorably a lot here, and that is simply because a.) as a German, they are my ‘household airline’, b.) I like them, c.) they are a partner of the German Football Association (the [DFB](http://www.dfb.de/)) and d.) they are the the airline which flies most of the transatlantic flights to and from Frankfurt (and for that matter, Munich as well), so it was simply logical to choose them. This is **not** an ad for Lufthansa, and I'm not sponsored by them in any way.


	3. Together, for once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco leaves the hospital to find someone is already waiting outside...

Marco was awakened by beams of sunlight shining through the narrow gap between the heavy curtains draping down in front of the hospital window. He opened his eyes and faced the same whitewashed walls he had been facing every morning of every day of every week of this slow drudge from bed to doctor, from doctor to MRI, from MRI to doctor, and from doctor to bed again. The cycle had made him numb. He'd just sit there, waiting for the one day his sun would rise and wash away the whitewash, burn the curtains and leave him free. 

His sun had begun to dawn yesterday afternoon, when his release date had been rescheduled. Then, when Mario called him he had been left with the feeling that he didn't need a sun. He needed two things. The first one was himself. The second one was Mario.

He pulled his legs out from under the blanket, stumbled out of bed and into the en-suite bathroom. That is if anyone could call this a suite. He hollowed his hands and filled them with cold water, proceeding to splash it onto his face. The water washed away not only the remaining drowsiness but some of the thoughts shadowing his mind, too. They washed down the drain, leaving Marco a little bit more happy. He managed a smile, and carried on with his morning routine. He styled his hair, like he had done every morning, even though there was no one but nurses, doctors and other patients who could see it. Why? It felt like a tether to his normal life. Like a lifeline he could hold on, a ritual transcending these dull halls he had wandered through day by day.

He walked back into the room and started packing away his belongings into his bag, as if that could somehow change the fact that his release was still two hours away. He heard the principal consultant talking to some nurses just outside his door. They entered and lined up next to his bed. They asked him if he was in pain, and he answered that he was not. The principal consultant would do this every morning. He'd go around, asking every patient how they are. For Marco, that had resulted in the principal consultant asking him the same questions over and over again. He had to smile when he remembered an Einstein quote he had picked up somewhere – “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results.” Great. So he had been treated by a person gone mad over the course of the few last months.

When the questions were over with, the principal consultant ensured Marco once more that he'd sign his release papers and get them to him by ten. He and the nurses left the room, leaving Marco alone once more. Marco reached for his phone and decided to see who was online and with whom he could text while he waited for his release papers. He decided against texting Mario, as to not awaken him. Little did he know that Mario was not actually asleep.

When ten finally rolled around multiple things happened. Marco had just glimpsed out the window and saw a large, black luxury sedan drive up to the entrance of the hospital complex. At the same time, a nurse came entered the room and handed him two copies of his release papers, one of which he had to sign and give back to her. The nurse was about to leave the room, when the portable phone, clipped to one the pockets of her white overcoat, began to ring. She picked up the phone and nodded a few times before she hung up. She turned back to face Marco once more.

“Someone is waiting to pick you up downstairs.” she said. “Who?” Marco asked, puzzled, as he hadn't ordered a taxi or asked anyone to pick him up. “I wasn't told.” she replied before she left the room.

Marco packed away the papers into his bag, before he picked it up alongside with his phone and left the room. He walked down the station hallway one last time, past doors leading to other patient's rooms, the nurses room, a small treatment room. He left the station and walked down the flight of stairs leading him to the ground floor. At the entrance stood a man, dressed in a black suit and tie, obviously waiting for someone. When the man spotted him he walked up to him. “Hello Mr. Reus, I am your chauffeur for today. If you could please follow me, I'll take care of your luggage.” The man faced no resistance when relieving Marco of his bag, as the latter was too flummoxed to fathom what was going on here. A chauffeur? For him? He didn't order one! Was this just some evil trick someone was trying to play on him? Should he follow the chauffeur? And when he did follow the man to the black limousine: Is this what stupid people do just before they're kidnapped? 

The man dressed in black stowed away Marco's bag in the trunk. Marco caught a glimpse at another piece of luggage in it. It was a Nike bag of which Marco was sure that he had seen it before. He just wasn't sure where. He proceeded by walking around to the side of the vehicle and placing his hand on the door handle. “I was requested to ask you to close your eyes before entering.” Once more, Marco was puzzled by the strange request, but closed his eyes anyway. This was surely better than the cab he would have ordered to drive him home. 

He entered the passenger compartment, being careful not to bang his head on the door frame or the ceiling of the compartment itself. He sat down on the bench lining the wall of the limousine's interior. He could feel the leather through his shirt as he leaned back against the backrest. The door fell shut next to him and he could hear the driver get into the front compartment of the car. 

Marco heard someone scooting along the bench towards him and, when the scooting had stopped, a very familiar voice spoke right next to him. “You may open your eyes now.” he opened them and saw Mario, looking his finest in a tailored black suit and matching pants, a tie with thin red and white stripes and a pair of polished leather shoes. Marco was dumbfounded, and before the situation had even fully registered in his mind he leapt towards Mario, almost hitting his head on the ceiling above, sending both of them flying until Mario landed on his back with Marco on top of him. Mario grinned and joked “Careful – you'll wrinkle my suit!” “I couldn't care less about your suit right now.” Marco replied and, as to prove it, hugged Mario as tight as he could. He could hear Mario's heart beating against his chest as he hugged back, burring his head between Mario's neck and shoulder in an effort to be as close to him as possible. Mario hugged him back, feeling Marco's chest rising and falling against his.

“I missed you so much.” Mario said, his voice nothing more than whisper in Marco's ear. “I missed you too.” Marco replied, just as soft. They stayed like that for what seemed like an infinity. They simply lay there and enjoyed being close to each other. They finally had each other back after a time of laying in bed alone every night, of lone walks (at least for one of them), of sitting around, thinking about nothing but each other. They wouldn't have to tread through this world alone anymore, even though they knew that this couldn't last. They knew that, in the end, they would have to walk alone once more, split apart by their careers and the only thing both of them truly loved besides each other – football.

The limousine came to a halt and both men jumped into a sitting position, Mario trying desperately to even out the wrinkles the tight embrace had left in his suit. The door was opened by the driver, and both Mario and Marco left the car. The driver handed them their luggage and drove off, leaving them in front of a house in one of the finer suburbs of Dortmund. Marco quickly procured his key and walked up to the gate, pulling Mario along by his tie. 

They spent the rest of the day together. Mario left for Munich the next day, knowing full well that he wouldn't see Marco again until they'd meet as enemies. He wiped the thought from his mind, and as he remembered the great time he had had with Marco the day before a smile crawled up his lips. That should keep him sane until the day comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing significant to say this time, other than that I'd really love some feedback - good, bad, insulting, whatever. I can take it.


	4. Intermezzo: Aboard the plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just before Mario left Munich, he left a present for a certain stewardess there. What happens when the stewardess recieves it? You'll have to read to find out.

In the narrow galley of an A330, parked at Frankfurt International Airport, stood a brown haired stewardess holding a clipboard in her left hand and spinning a ballpoint pen in her right She was checking the labels of the food trays, making sure all first-class meals for the Frankfurt-Portland flight are aboard. A smile had been stuck to her face since earlier that day. Why? Well, she had met Mario Götze. No biggie. It's not like he is one of the best German football players. Her smile had made way for a grin, and she continued counting trays.

She had just finished counting as a member of the ground staff entered the aircraft. She saw him holding a plastic bag in his hand, talking to her colleague. He was obviously asking her colleague something, and was gesturing with his other hand, as to indicate a height. Her colleague responded by nodding and pointing towards the stewardess, leading the ground staff member to walk up to her. 

“I was given this by one of our first class terminal passengers,” – he lifted the bag slightly to indicate what he was talking about – “and was asked to pass it on to you.” he remarked, while handing her the bag. A news agent's logo was printed onto it, and it clearly contained a magazine. She retrieved it from the bag cover-side-down. She flipped the magazine and stared at the cover.

The scream could be heard echoing through the entire first class. The purser, who had been making last checks in the rear part of the aircraft was now running towards the front in her high heels, almost tripping as she snagged her overcoat on one of the seats. When she reached the first-class galley she was startled at the sight of her colleague, who had fallen unconscious clutching a sports magazine. 

Two other people were present. The one she first noticed was another cabin attendant who was kneeling over the unconscious, holding her had below the head of her colleague, while placing her in a recovery position. The second person was a member of ground staff, who was on the phone, talking in staccato German, trying to alert the emergency medical service.

The purser knelt over her brown-haired colleague as well. She tried to softly speak with her, hoping to wake her up. Lucky for both of them, it worked. The brown haired woman fluttered her eyes open and used the empty hand to wipe across them. She started to mumble, asking where she was and what happened. The purser tried to desperately remember what to do in the case of unconsciousness, but failed to do so. Lucky for her, the emergency physician arrived and took over from there. He asked her colleague if she could remember her own name, amongst other things. 

After making sure that everything was all right, he left, leaving only her and the brown-haired cabin attendant in the galley, as the ground staff member left along with him, and her other colleague had to do some final checks. She figured that now was as good of a time as ever to ask what happened.

“Carmen?” she asked, looking at her colleague, who had just sat up. “Yes?” her colleague replied, looking up. “What happened? Can you remember why you fell unconscious?” she continued in a worried tone of voice. “I can.” her colleague answered, blushing. “Do you remember who flew first-class from Portland with us today?” she asked. “Multiple people, but I guess your talking about Mario Götze, right?” the purser deadpanned. “I am. Well, the ground staffer had orders from Mr. Götze to give this to me.” she said, holding up the magazine so the purser could see the writing on the front of it. “Oh my god!” the purser said, surprised herself. “Let me guess, that happened because of you congratulating him for winning the world cup?” she continued. “I have no idea. That's all he wrote. I guess so, but either way, I was a _bit_ surprised, and that's really all I can remember...” her colleague said, looking away, still blushing. “Don't worry about it. I can't imagine what would have happened to me if Thomas Müller had done that for me. You gave me a proper scare, that's all.” the purser said, trying to sound as understanding as possible. “Thank you so much.” the attendant stood back up. “I'll finish doing my checks now, before any more famous footballers show up.” 

Both women went back to work, completely unaware that barely a kilometer away from them, Thomas Müller was checking in to his flight to Portland. An emergency had rendered his parents stuck there while on vacation, so Pep had allowed him to skip training for the week and get them back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in bed, in pain, with a sprained ankle from playing football. Luckily not as bad as Marco (whom I feel really bad for getting injured AGAIN. I mean, seriously, come on! He missed the f*ing world cup! Cut him some slack!), but it still sucks. So please, excuse any mistakes. I was kinda distracted.
> 
> Anyway, enough moaning from me. I'd still love to hear some feedback, so feel free to comment.


	5. Together, for ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is on. FC Bayern Munich and Borussia Dortmund face off against each other in the Allianz Arena. Mario and Marco may be adversaries, but they might just end up closer than expected.

Six o' clock. Only thirty more minutes until kick-off. Mario was getting dressed in the changing room, along with his fellow players. He pulled the red and blue jersey over his head and turned around, now facing away from the wall behind him and sat down, grabbing his shoes and placing them next to his feet. He started putting them on when someone decided to sit down next to him. Even without looking up he figured from the dark purple shorts and the orange gloves that it was Manuel. 

“Hey, Mario, are you all right? You're so absent today.” the goalkeeper asked, clearly a bit worried. Mario silently cursed himself. Since he woke up this morning he couldn't really think about anything else but seeing Marco again. While he had tried to hide it as well as possible, he had caught himself just daydreaming several times already. That was probably what had set of Manuel's 'sixth sense'. On the other hand, it could just be Manuel. He had a talent for noticing when other people were down, sometimes even when they themselves hadn't realized it yet.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Mario lied, looking up at Manuel. He really didn't want to talk this out with Manuel right now, especially because he really had to start focusing on the match at this point, and talking about Marco would not further that cause. “No, you're not. What's going on?” Manuel insisted. Damn that man and his knowledge of human nature. “It's nothing really... It's just, well, –” Mario was interrupted by Manuel “Is it because of Marco?” he asked. Mario's blush already answered that question for him, so Manuel just kept on talking. “Listen. Don't worry because of Marco. I may not only see him on international duty, but I know him well enough to tell you two things: a.) he really loves you, and b.) he wouldn't leave you for the world, even if you don't see him that often.” Even though Mario hadn't really doubted those two things, hearing Manuel say them out loud lifted his spirits. “Now go out there and get them!” Manuel ended, flashing Mario a smile and padding him on the shoulder before standing up and leaving the changing room.

Mario put on his shoes and joined the rest of the team on their way out. He was the last one to leave the changing room. He took deep breaths. In and out. He went over the strategy inside his head, trying to remember what Pep had told them. In and out. Keep an eye out for balls coming from the defence. In and out. When in doubt, play the ball to Ribery or Robben so they can play it over the flanks. Don't risk giving the ball to their offense – especially Reus. In and... screw it. With his luck, even thinking about toast would end up with him thinking about Marco somehow. Damn it. At least he didn't feel down anymore – he was extremely excited to see Marco again. He had woken up with a smile today, and it hadn't left his face since, but he was worried that in all his excitement about seeing Marco again, he'd slip up and make a stupid mistake or something like that. He had to focus, so he continued his deep breathing. In and out.

He got in line behind his teammates and waited for the signal to go outside. He looked over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse at Marco, who obviously hadn't left the changing room yet. Mario turned his head back towards the front, now looking straight at the nape of Thomas' neck. He went through the strategy one last time. Then he heard the sound of footsteps coming from the away team's changing room. He flicked his head around and saw two people walk through the door into the player waiting area. One of them was Mats Hummels, who was chatting wildly with – him. His blonde hair was styled back as always, a smile on his lips as he chatted with Mats. He wore a black BVB1 overcoat with yellow highlights, along with matching shorts and his football shoes. Mario was, quite honestly, a bit overwhelmed. He had to use all his willpower to not just run over to Marco and hug him.

Mario was startled out of his staring by Manuel, who had tapped Mario on the shoulder, and was now whispering “Hey! Eyes on the prize!” into Mario's ear before getting in line behind him. Just in time, as they were now due to walk out onto the field. “Stern des Südens”2 was playing as the over 70,000 fans, sitting and standing on the ranks of the Allianz Arena3 were cheering and chanting along. He lined up on the field, along with the rest of his team. They watched as Philipp and Mats exchanged handshakes and the teams banners, followed by them picking the side of a coin which was then flipped by the referee to determine who plays on which side. Philipp lost, and so Mats gets to choose the side, not to mention that they get to play the kick off. 

As the players run to their positions, Marco snuck up to Mario, startling him. “Ready to pay for dinner?” Marco asks, lowering his voice. “You wish.” Mario answers confidently before Marco runs off again to take his place before the kick off. Now it's on. Now Mario was focused again. So Marco really thought he and his BVB could beat the black beast4? No damn way. He'd make sure that Marco would be the one paying for his Grünkohl tonight. 

Kick off. Marco has the ball, plays it to Mkhitaryan, who tries to score a goal by flanking, but is stopped by Rafinha. Mario dashed forward, as the ball is played to Schweinsteiger. He spots Mario, and shoots the ball towards him. Mario didn't see Mats come at him soon enough though, so he plays to Ribery, who is trapped by Großkreuz and Subotic, so he plays back to Mario. Mario spots a hole in the BVB's defence as Großkreuz and Subotic are still on their way back and Durm and Mats are busy standing in Robben's way, so he dashes forward, feints left and shoots into the upper right corner, straight through Weidenfeller's arms. The whole thing happened in what seemed to Mario like slow motion. When he sees the ball pass the goal line and the rippling of the net as the ball hits it he can't believe his luck. The second minute isn't even over and he has already scored. He turns around and runs along the side of the field, right into his teammates who couldn't believe it either.

The crowd went wild. The entire Bayern Munich fan block turned into a sea of red, with waves dancing along it as the individual fans were waving banners, flags and scarves, jumping up and down, screaming and chanting over the sound of the goal jingle. The announcer did his duty and informed everyone that Mario did, indeed, just score a goal, and that the score was now 1 – 0 for Bayern. When his teammates were on their way back to their positions, Marco flashed his tongue at Marco who looked at him as if to say ‘just you wait’.

The remainder of the first half was rather uneventful, with the exception of a yellow card for Martinez, who had been a bit to rough when trying to snatch the ball away from Ramos, and some light drizzle between the fifteenth and thirtieth minute. Both teams played extremely well, but the game seemed to have deadlocked, with the ball being played between midfielders, and every attack was pretty much foiled by the other side's defence. This continued all the way through stoppage time, and when the sharp sound of the referee's whistle ended the first half the teams retreated into the changing rooms.  
The first thing Mario did when he entered the locker room was drink something. He throat felt like it was covered with sanding paper. He looked up when Pep entered the room, and listened to what he had to say. Pep had always been good at pep talks. Maybe it was because of his nickname or, most certainly, because of his mind that could take apart and analyze any given game. He started with a general evaluation including an honorable mention of Mario's goal, followed by some strategic pointers as to where he spotted some holes in the BVB's defensive midfield. The general tone was content, but expecting. Mario definitely preferred Pep's speeches over Löw's litanies. The break was over soon after, and both team's players returned to their positions. Dortmund had altered their lineup with Aubameyang switching places with Mkhitaryan.

The game continued. The Bayern players utilized Pep's hints, and the game picked up pace. Mats, Großkreuz, Subotic and Durm were chased over the field from side to side, as Mario's teammates attacked their goal time and time again. Then, during the 67th minute, it happened. Mario missed a pass by Philipp. Marco, who stood behind him, stopped the ball and played it to Aubameyang. Then everything happened incredibly fast. Aubameyang ran along the left side, and flanked it into the middle of the field, where Ramos was waiting for the ball, narrowly avoiding an off-side. He feints, then shoots and somehow manages to make the ball cross the goal line, millimeters away from Manuel's hands.

Cheers from the Dortmund fans could be heard through the entire stadium. Ramos was celebrating with his teammates. Mario on the other hand was reprimanding himself for his slip-up. How could he have let this happen? Damn it. Now they'd have to shoot another goal to win. Mario looked up and tried to catch the gaze of one of the other Bayern players. He didn't manage to, they were all looking down or away from him. Whose gaze he did catch was Marco's. Marco was clearly rejoicing his chance to stick his tongue out at Mario, now that his team had finally scored. Mario pointed at his wrist, as to show Marco that the game wasn't over yet.

Manuel kicked the ball far over into the other's side of the field, and the game resumed. Mario and his teammates did their best to score another goal, but Dortmund's defence, motivated by their own goal, held tight and defeated Bayern's every attempt to score. That is until the second minute of stoppage time. With only one minute left, Mario had stolen the ball from Bender and passed it to Robben, who, completely out of the blue, decide to chase along the right flank, lob the ball into the air and headed it into the goal with such force that his feet left the ground and only came to a halt when his belly hit it. 

2 – 1 for Bayern Munich. The score flashed across the giant billboards enthroned above the ranks. The goal jingle was played and the fans went wild once more. Mario ran up to the crowd which had formed around Robben. They had just witnessed another flying Dutchman5. There were still ten seconds of play left, though, which quickly passed. When the referee blew his whistle for the last time the Bayern fans were unstoppable. The waves dancing on the sea of red calmed and formed a giant Bayern Munich emblem. The players were celebrating on the field, gesturing towards the ranks, making the fans chant even louder.

Mario looked around, catching a glimpse at Marco who looked up in just that moment. They locked eyes, and Marco made a sad face, sticking out his lower lip. Mario stuck out his tongue at Marco. In response, Marco nodded his head towards Mario, pucked his lips, then nodded towards himself. Mario's heart pounded against his chest as he deciphered the message. The jogged towards each other, meeting each other at the center mark. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Mario asked. “I've been waiting to do this for ages, Kleiner.” Marco said.

Both of them leaned in and kissed.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, very suddenly, it became very quiet, just as if someone had turned off a speaker. Heads turned as the fans noticed what was happening before their very eyes, every single one of them staring at Mario and Marco. No one had expected this. The players, who had, for the most part, walked back to the sidelines to either celebrate or mourn, soon noticed the fans falling silent. They looked around for the reason, and were now running towards the two men, who were still kissing passionately. Thomas was the first to start clapping, and then, one after another, the rest of the players joined in. The players on the field were soon joined by their trainers and team staff. Finally even the referee and his assistants joined into the applause. They all knew what courage it took to do what Mario and Marco were doing right now. So did the fans, who, at this point, had made sure that everyone in Munich could hear that this was no ordinary post-game celebration, and, for once, all of them – no matter if they were a fan of Dortmund or Munich – joined into what could only be called the largest collaborative fan cheer ever.

Mario and Marco didn't realize any of this. All they knew at that moment was each other. They hugged each other closer, eyes shut. It didn't matter that they were surrounded by over 70,000 people. It didn't matter that every single shutter and lens was pointed right at them. It didn't even matter that they were supposed to be adversaries. All that mattered was that they were together, there for each other. A weight fell off their shoulders. Now the whole world knew. They had left their hiding place for good. They wouldn't have to feint not to love each other any more.

Now, finally, they could love each other.

They opened their eyes and leaned back, noticing what had happened around them. For a second they stood there like statues, unable to register the sheer flood of impressions reaching them. Then, out of sheer impulse Mario grabbed Marco's hand, their fingers entwining and rocketed it upwards, a punch into the air showing the world that they are ready to face anything they'd have to.

But they won't have to face it alone. They will face it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You cannot believe how long I waited for this. Thanks for reading this far, and feel free to comment and/or kudos. There will be one more chapter to this fanfic, but don't worry. There will be more after that. 
> 
> **The footnotes:**  
>  1: Shorthand for “Ballspielverein Borussia 09 e. V. Dortmund” (Ball game club Borussia 09, Registered association of Dortmund)  
> 2: The official song of Bayern Munich  
> 3: The [home arena of Bayern Munich](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allianz_Arena)  
> 4: Play on the term “Bestia negra”, which is a Spanish nickname for Bayern Munich  
> 5: The name for the move was coined during the FIFA World Cup 2014 game of Spain vs. the Netherlands when Robin van Persie performed it.


	6. We will be there for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They tell their teams. 
> 
> Last chapter of this story.

Mario let their arms drop back down, leaving their fingers interlocked. The clapping had ceased, and both of them were still looking around, obviously perplexed by the reaction they had gotten. By now the players were leaving the field, walking back into the changing rooms. The staff joined them in leaving the field, but headed towards the referee's corner instead. All in all, the situation was calming. The fans started to shuffle along the tribunes towards the exits as well.

Mario and Marco joined their teammates, still hand in hand, walking to the changing rooms. Mario was in seventh heaven. He was holding hands with Marco. In public. Without trying to hide anything. They were finally free to be themselves. Marco felt the same. He, too, had suffered under the secretive nature of their relationship. Not only had he endured Mario leaving for Munich, but even when they were together, they couldn't really do anything but hide away, making sure that they weren't recognized.

They continued on until the realization dawned on them that they would have to eventually let go of each others hands to be able to get into their changing rooms. Mario stood on his heels and whispered something into Marco's ear. “Meet you outside? You know, I might just be a fair enough winner to pay for your Grünkohl tonight.” “How generous of you.” Marco responded sarcastically. Mario stuck his tongue out at Marco, an action which Marco responded to by lightly kissing the tip of his nose, turning around and sliding through the partially opened locker room door, slightly waving at Mario while he disappeared. 

Marco was greeted by his teammates, who, as on command, started cheering wildly. Kevin even sneaked up on him from behind and emptied a bottle of champagne over his head. Even Jürgen1 was there, a wide grin on his face. Marco decide to play along, and started to bow towards them before being handed a towel by Matthias and drying his champagne-stained hair. Some chuckles were heard, and the clapping receded. Mats was the first to say something. “So Marco, come on, spill the beans. How long was there something going on between you and Mario that went beyond you two just being best friends?” Marco sat down on the bench next to Mats. He had figured there would have to be some explaining due. “Well, I'm not really sure. I guess it just developed somehow – our first kiss was about one years ago, just before Mario left for Munich. I guess you could call that the beginning of us being boyfriends.” The next person to say something was Erik. “And before that? I mean come on, you to were basically stuck to each other!” “Not to mention, obnoxiously jolly.” Mats mumbled under his breath. “Do you want to share something, Mr. Captain?” Marco asked sarcastically. “It's nothing, go on.” Mats replies as nonchalant as possible, while still making sure everyone gets the cue. “Anyway, back to your question, Erik. Well, we were best friends, but not _that_ close. Looking back, it was probably only a matter of time. We enjoyed each others company all along, just a bit more after the first kiss than before.” Marco's tone of voice clearly highlighting the double entendre hidden behind his last few words. 

For them, the matter was settled with that. Marco was gay. So what? Mario got the basically same reactions from his teammates at Bayern – the only difference being that everyone (save Robert) was a bit more astonished, and Thomas drenching him with beer, not champange. They hadn't seen Mario and Marco together that often, after all. Thomas had been the curious one who had asked Mario about his relationship, and Mario had told them all the same thing Marco had told his teammates, only perhaps a bit more exaggerated. It's Mario, after all.

When Mario left the cabin, Bastian was quick to catch up with him. “I have to talk to you.” he said. “Right now?” Mario asked by raising his tone of voice. “Jep. Let's go over there, I want to talk in private.” Bastian said, dragging Mario into a corridor branching of the one they were currently in. 

“First of all: What you did out there with Marco was fucking brave. Don't let anyone tell you anything different. You two might have just singlehandedly made one of the biggest changes to football in history, at least concerning equal rights. Second of all: Thank you so much for doing that. I trust you can keep a secret?” Bastian asked, sounding stern. Mario only nodded. “You two are not the only ones. I can only say for sure that Lukas2 and I have something going on, but there are probably others, too. You two made a change. You two may have just made it possible for us all to come out of hiding and live as we are. Finally: If anyone starts to discriminate against you, or Marco, for that matter, and I don't give a damn that he is at Borussia in that regard, tell us. They will think twice before messing with the entire Bayern Munich team. We are here for you, buddy. Now go out there and give Marco my kind regards.” Bastian winked at Mario and walked off. Mario left the corridor as well.

Both Jürgen and Pep were quick to give Marco and Mario the night off, and so they met at an exit of the Allianz Arena. They stared into each others eyes, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to stand still, once more. This it was Marco who grabbed Mario's hand and squeezed it ever so slightly. With that they broke eye contact and left the stadium. The doors slid open, and they were hit with a mild breeze. “You won't believe what Bastian told me.” Mario said softly. “Really, what did he tell you?” Marco asked. “I'll tell you over some Grünkohl, you can't believe how hungry I am right now.” Mario said.

With that, they walked out into the warm autumn night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE HIT 10000 WORDS! I'm really happy about this. This may be the last chapter, but not the end of the story. There will be another one, so get excited for the sequel :)
> 
>  **Footnotes:**  
>  1: [Jürgen Klopp](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J%C3%BCrgen_Klopp), trainer of Borussia Dortmund.  
> 2: [Lukas Podolski](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lukas_Podolski).


End file.
